


How The West Was Not Won

by exmachinarium



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Vaguely Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of their planned re-settlement to a budding city of a rather significant name, Aziraphale and Crowley encounter technical difficulties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The West Was Not Won

**Author's Note:**

> According to a short note in a history magazine, during the enrollment of colonists willing to settle down in a pueblo that was the foundation of what we now know as Los Angeles, everything was delayed due to two men who just couldn't make up their mind whether they wanted to join the expedition or not. And since this setting seemed... Oddly familiar, I decided to make (hopefully good) use of it. That being said, sorry for any unexplainable and/or accidental anachronisms on the way.

Aziraphale paced back and forth through the spacious but extremely cluttered room, a deep frown settled between his elegant eyebrows, his eyes casting glances everywhere apart from where his conversation partner was currently standing.

"My dear, I know we agreed [1], but... I'm just not so sure any more. I mean... Oh, isn't that just _too obvious_?", he threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

Crowley answered with nothing but his infamous Glare from behind the newly-acquired and extremely fashionable smoked glasses.

"Why, of coursssse, Angel," he hissed irritably, "I'm sure they're going to sussspect you the moment you cross the border of any place called 'The City of Angels', or whatever that Spanish gibberish means."

Aziraphale, seriously concerned by his opposite number's remark [2], laced his plumpish fingers together, even more unsure what to do. He knew what Crowley was going to say next - and he could hardly disagree. The idea of further exploration of the New World [3] was indeed thrilling. But after the initial excitement, reality hit him like an elephant on a wheelbarrow without breaks. For, due to his initial failure in the pragmatism department, the Angel's main concern were currently...

"The books," Aziraphale attempted to explain without sounding whiny, "I have no means... Well, no _believable_ means to transport them safely through such a long distance," a cold shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the sheer horror that was bringing the whole of his precious collection all the way from Spain on the board of an unstable, leaky, rat-infested ship. "Besides, I doubt there would be a facility big enough to immediately store them all in."

Crowley rolled his serpentine eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose beneath the glasses. This was Alexandria all over again, he realized; someone Downstairs must be having a real blast right now.

"Why don't you just ask someone to look after them while you're away and... Oh, for Chri... _Someone_ , Angel, don't give me that face!"

It was not as if Aziraphale could hold back the sheer panic overcoming him instantly. Leaving his beloved possessions for an undefined period of time with almost complete strangers, so that they could, without any supervision whatsoever, look at them, stain them with their greasy fingers, or, worst of all - read them as if they were just some ordinary, commonplace things [4]?! His pedigree collection of the finest artefacts of the written word?! What on Earth was that old serpent thinking?!

"That is completely out of the question, Crowley!" He paused and made his best effort to calm down before continuing, "Listen, why don't you just go on your own and I'll join you once everything's ready, all right?"

If looks could kill...

"Fine." the demon growled through gritted teeth, then stomped heavily towards the door, "Fine. You asked for it. I'm telling this Don Fernando bloke we're out of the whole business... _Again_."

 

[1] And then disagreed, and agreed once more...  
[2] His grasp on sarcasm still remarkably feeble back in the day.  
[3] Well, not so new to them, but the Angel decided to let this one inaccuracy slide.  
[4] The thought of any of them being stolen or sold would probably discorporate Aziraphale on the spot.


End file.
